


The Real Monsters

by quiescentLunacy



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Biting, Bloodplay, Cannibalism, Choking, F/M, I'm so sorry, Necrophilia, Nonhuman Characters, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regeneration, Ren will be in this at some point, Torture, Vampires, completely self indulgent torture fest, forced autocannibalism, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiescentLunacy/pseuds/quiescentLunacy
Summary: Answering the age-old question, "What would happen if Strade captured someone who could regenerate?" In which Strade finds out his latest victim isn't entirely human and has a taste for blood.





	The Real Monsters

I woke up to a familiar pounding in my skull, and for a moment, I thought I must have had another rough night. Headaches were familiar to me. From drinking too much, from “drinking” too little, from the sunlight and a lack of sleep. No doubt it was one of those, or all of those. A groan escaped my throat as I tried to roll over, to sleep off the familiar pain for just a bit longer. I barely shifted when I felt something was wrong. There was a tug at my wrists. I pulled harder and winced at the rough sensation of rope binding my arms behind me. I was suddenly aware of my aching muscles, of the rough cement floor underneath me. Aware of the thick, coppery scent in the air that made me…hungry. _Something was wrong_. My eyes snapped open and I gazed into the darkness, taking in my surroundings. I could make out the dim outlines of work tables and tool racks. Was this a basement? My breath quickened as panic shot through me. _This was wrong_. “Hello?” The call slipped past my throat before my brain could consider if it was a bad idea, “Someone? Anyone! Help!” Part of me didn’t expect a response. Through the walls, I could hear a thumping, and the creak of a door. Light beamed from somewhere behind me as heavy footsteps descended down unseen stairs. A light flickered on, and I shrunk back from it instinctively.

“You’re already awake!” A chipper voice sounded above me. The man from the bar. Strade. He wore the same friendly smile, like he was genuinely _pleased_ that I was here. “How ya feeling, Ellie?” He was still flashing that thousand-watt smile at me, like he actually cared. Like this was normal for him.

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and winced as the ropes rubbed against my skin. “My wrists hurt,” I mumbled, barely aware that I had said it out loud.

The smile remained, but his eyes narrowed like he was enjoying this. “Did I tie you too tight?” He leaned forward to catch my averted eyes, “I can’t help it. You look good with some rope burn.” There was something off about the way he said that last part.

A chill ran down my spine. I tried to lean back as best as I could with a wooden pillar behind me. The gears in my brain whirred, trying to think of a way out of this. “I think there’s been some kind of a misunderstanding,” I tried to make it sound like I wasn’t pleading. It wasn’t very convincing.

“Misunderstanding?” He asked, eyebrows quirked. For a moment I thought he might be angry, but then he did something even more frightening. He laughed. “No. I know what I’m doing.” _That’s what I was afraid of_. “Oh! I almost forgot! Before we get started, do you want something to eat? Drink?”

_Get started on what?_ I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer. My stomach flipped at the mention of food, but I got the feeling that it would be hard to keep anything down with the anxiety tying my stomach in knots. Besides, his offer of “food” was undoubtedly different from what my body was really craving. The throbbing pressure on my skull seconded that. I shook my head tersely and grimaced. “I don’t need it.” The words slipped out more bitingly than I had intended. Tally that to my growing list of mistakes. _But who’s counting?_

Strade’s smile slipped almost imperceptibly. He took a step forward, his boot positioning itself on the crook between my ankle and bare foot. “Hey now,” he said, his foot slowly pressing down with the weight of his body. Air hissed through my teeth at the pain. “No need to be rude. I’m just offering my guest a refreshment. You can’t fault me for that, can you _kumpel_?” That wasn’t a question. His eyes gazed down at me piercingly, prompting an answer. His weight continued to press on the delicate joint connecting my talus bone with my tibia.

“N-no! I’m sorry,” I swallowed my pride and backed down, my brief moment of irritation quelled by fear. I sighed in relief as he lifted his weight from my foot. I didn’t want to look into his eyes, but I could still hear the satisfaction in his voice.

“Good. Don’t worry, buddy! I’m sure you’re just snippy because you’re hungry.” _He wasn’t entirely wrong_. I tensed, my instincts screaming that this wasn’t over so easily. I glanced up to see him grinning, and the pit in my stomach grew deeper. He was holding a knife. _When did he grab a knife??_ I squirmed in my bindings as a renewed panic set in.

“What are you doing?!” I squealed in the _least dignified manner I possibly could have._

“Your clothing is in the way,” he said cheerfully. Like I was the crazy one. Before I could start to formulate a response, the knife was moving. He dug into my clothes and tore the seams with an uncomfortably practiced ease.

I squirmed harder, feeling the knife catch on my skin in response. “What? Wait! Stop!” He didn’t even hesitate. The knife moved quickly and with more force than was probably necessary. Every time it grazed my skin, I jerked. That only seemed to make the movements rougher. Within moments, I was bleeding and shivering in a pile of my shredded clothes. A tiny part of my brain was thankful that I had been able to keep my underwear. Strade leaned back and inspected his handiwork, his gaze causing me to flush in shame. I wanted to look somewhere, anywhere else. My eyes turned back to the knife, and I suddenly noticed something else, too. His hand was bandaged up. How had I not noticed before?

Strade caught the change in my attention. His smile deepened as he waved his hand, still holding the knife, closer to my face. “You did some damage, huh? Your teeth are pretty sharp, _liebling_!” I remembered, too. That night at the bar, it was an instinctive response. He cornered me. He covered my mouth with his hand and I _bit down_. I remembered the taste of his blood. It was surprisingly sweet. I hated myself for wanting more.

I felt a gaze burning into me and I snapped back into the present. Strade was looking at me differently now. He seemed almost…curious. “There it is again,” he mused. A different kind of smile crept onto his face. This one was more subdued. Darker. I felt a chill down my spine as he pinned me with his stare. “Hey _liebling_ …are you hungry?” _Shit._

I opened my mouth. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to reject the horrible, bone-chilling fear that swept over me. “I-” I couldn’t get a word out. His knife was _in my thigh_ and I screamed. I could feel the flesh and muscle tearing, I could almost _hear_ it slicing through the tender meat as blood began to pour out. A satisfied sound emanated from Strade’s throat. The knife pulled out, slick with blood and just as painful because the knife was jerking around on its exit and _I could swear it was on purpose_. Blood gushed without the knife there to block its exit and I realized I was crying. Strade was looking at me excitedly. He was _enjoying this_. Like a fucking psychopath. Before I could begin to catch my breath, the knife pushed back in. Slowly. Deliberately. The first time was sudden but _this_ was torture. I couldn’t even think to close my mouth, to clamp down on the screams bubbling up from my throat. My body jerked with the pain between agonized screams and shuddering sobs as he moved the knife in my leg, twisting and pulling. He was carving into me. No. He was _**carving something out of me**_. My sight was blinded by tears but I didn’t need to see to know what was happening. I could hear him panting, his pulse racing in his throat. My nose was filled with the scent of blood. My blood. My leg was a twitching landscape of blinding hell and I could feel something _tearing away from it_. I was gasping. I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in blood and panic and my own screaming tears and his hand was _in my leg clutching something that he cut out of my leg and the pain was so bad I would have retched if there was anything in my stomach._

I felt a hand pat my cheek. I was hyperventilating. Through the haze of tears I gazed up at the man crouching in front of me _and I regretted it_. His golden eyes were filled with a sadistic glee and…something else. A terrifying kind of excitement. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his breathing unsteady. In one hand he held a gore-stained hunting knife and in the other…I let out a noise I couldn’t name. Something between a squeak, a whimper, and a sob. Strade’s breathing hitched at the sound and he leaned closer. He held the mutilated mass of flesh up for my inspection. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice dipping into a low growl, “Aren’t you hungry?” My widening eyes reflected my horror. _No no no no no nononononono this wasn’t happening this couldn’t be happening I tried to beg to plead to say something anything—_

He shoved the meat past my protesting lips and into my mouth before I could react. My scream was muffled by the pulpy mound on my tongue, and I couldn’t help but gag at the taste. It was warm and raw, and any taste of the meat itself was overwhelmed by the heady scent of blood. He leaned in close, covering my mouth so I couldn’t spit it out. “Eat it, _kumpel_ ,” he growled in my ear. His voice was clear as everything else turned to static. Everything was too much, too loud. I would feel the pain radiating from my leg where he cut out my flesh. I could feel his breath against my ear, panting just slightly in excitement. I could hear his growl and underneath it, his pulse, a throbbing bass backdrop against the static. I was choking on the thick, coppery taste of my own blood, forcing myself to try and swallow my own flesh. It caught in the back of my throat and I swallowed again. Again. Again. My head was fogging in a red haze as the fleshy lump finally went down, and I _moaned_. It was a shuddering, instinctual noise made by something far less human than what I pretended to be. It was something _hungry_. It was something that had tasted blood and wanted more. I was barely aware of it myself at that moment, but the man beside me stiffened. He leaned back to look at my face, removing the hand that was pressed against my lips. His eyes were tinged with something carnal. “What...was that?”

His voice brought me back to my senses. I realized I had fucked up. He was leaning in, his pulse quickening under his skin. My eyes filled with fear as I tried to say something, anything, to make him calm down. “S-Strade wait st-“ But for once, he wasn’t interested in hearing my answer. The knife that had appeared in his hand disappeared just as quickly into my gut. He twisted the knife and _pulled_ , slitting my stomach open and I was screaming more than I ever thought I could and the pain was so blinding that I couldn’t feel anything anymore and my brain couldn’t process anything besides the fact that I was sure I was going to die here. There was _so much blood_ and I was shuddering and panting and I vaguely realized that Strade was doing the same. He leaned over and roughly undid the ropes binding me in place and suddenly he was shoving me to the floor. The back of my head slammed into the concrete and for a brief moment I saw stars and blackness. I felt him tearing my underwear off and I think I might have whimpered. I could hear him panting. And then I heard something else. A zipper. The clink of a belt. My sight was coming back and he was forcing my bloody, trembling legs apart. A chill ran down my spine. “Nononono please no please plea-“ my cries devolved into wordless screams as he pushed himself into me. It was too much, too fast, and my muscles were straining against the forceful intrusion spreading me open. I raised my weakened arms in a futile attempt to push him off, but my resistance only seemed to urge him on. He gave a low, guttural moan as his hands gripped my hips and trailed up, smearing the blood that poured from my stomach. He slammed into me again and I felt something tear. I was crying as he continued to thrust into me, trailing his hands up to rest on my neck. Suddenly he was squeezing, and I couldn’t scream. My voice was coming out in strangled gasps and he looked like it was the best thing he’d ever heard. An animalistic growl sounded from his throat as he crushed mine. My world was fading into greys and reds, my vital signs dropping to their bare minimum. I felt myself growing detached from what was happening, although the pain was still there. I didn’t need to breathe as much as a human did. If I needed to, I could hold my breath for more than an hour. My heartbeat slowed to a crawl to conserve what little blood remained in my body. I’m sure Strade could see my eyes glaze over, feel my body growing cool. He didn’t stop. I could see it in his crazed eyes and flushed cheeks, I could hear it in his panted moans as he fucked my lifeless body. He loved every part of this.

I didn’t know how long that pain lasted. At some point, he shuddered and I felt something hot release deep inside me. He moaned, thrusting until his load was completely emptied into me. He pulled out, panting, and released his crushing grip on my neck. I felt myself draw in a heaving, rattling gasp, and the body on top of me froze. The air felt like iron nails carving out my lungs, forcing me into a fit of agonizing coughs as my body desperately tried to replenish its oxygen. But right now that pain was nothing. With the air returning to my brain, I was grounded back in my body. My heartbeat began to pick up as a creeping panic returned to me. I could feel the bones in my neck shifting and realigning under my abused skin. He had fractured my spine. _What kind of ungodly strength had he needed to manage that?_ I began to take inventory of the individual pains that formed the pulsing, screaming agony that wracked my body. The deep gash in my stomach was already starting to close, slowly but visibly knitting itself back together. The gaping hole on my thigh was clotting, stemming the blood flow to a trickle. The cuts and contusions littering my limbs were reorganizing themselves. Even the places he had torn _inside me_ were asserting their presence. I felt something slick between my legs. I didn’t want to think about it. Instead, my brain turned its dawning horror to something far more terrifying. I wasn’t dead. Any normal human would be dead right now. But I wasn’t normal. _I wasn’t dead_. My gaze traveled up to the monster still straddling my broken form. His ever-present smile was different now, tinged by a lingering lust and overtaken by surprise and a growing, excited fascination. As my battered body healed, his sickening grin stretched wider, his breathing becoming heavier. A bone-deep chill wracked my body and he felt me trembling under his awed, gleeful gaze.

Strade looked into my eyes and laughed. It wasn’t the friendly, good-natured laugh he had used at the bar. There was no false warmth to it. This was an unhinged, excited sound as if he had just been granted an unattainable desire. It was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard. Strade reached out, stroking my cheek with a bloody hand. “Hey _liebling_ ,” he murmured, “What are you?” It wasn’t a question. His eyes commanded my answer.

My lips opened. The voice that came out was trembling and weak. “D-dhampir.” Apparently that wasn’t enough of an answer. His eyes narrowed slightly, urging me on. “I’m a half-vampire. I’m-“ I searched for the right word to explain, “Sturdy.” My voice cracked at the admittance. That was the word he wanted most. _Sturdy_. A toy that wouldn’t break no matter how roughly he played.

Strade’s eyes gleamed with something I didn’t want to see. His trademark smile was back in full force, as if his previous discomposure had never shown through. “A vampire? Really?” The hand on my cheek reached down to my stomach. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the wound was still gaping open. I sucked in a breath, flinching from the pain I expected. It didn’t come. He looked amusedly at my expression as he trailed his fingers across the healing wound, watching intently as my muscles and flesh knitted themselves back together. He seemed fascinated by it. “What’s that like?” His question stumped me. How was I supposed to answer that? _What’s it like to be a freak that drinks blood to survive? What’s it like to constantly hate the part of you that can’t walk in the sun?_ His brows furrowed impatiently at my hesitation, the fingers sliding over the gash slipped in. I jolted against the intrusion with a strangled cry. His hand was _in my stomach and he was pressing on the hole oh god stop stop-_

“It sucks!” I choke out, trying to give some kind of answer to _make him stop_. His hand retreated slightly. I didn’t wait for him to ask again. Everything that had happened was just another crack in a dam that was doomed to break, and a fucked up serial killer was swinging the hammer. I hated this. I hated him. I hated that I ever left my house that night. I hated myself. “I’m not human, I’m not a vampire, I don’t think like a monster but I still need to drink blood to live! The sun gives me migraines and animals hate me and I don’t even know what my lifespan will be because _no one ever stuck around long enough to tell me how shitty my life would be!_ ” I didn’t know when I started shouting. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I wanted to convince myself that it was because of the pain. A wave of exhaustion swept over me. It had taken everything I had left to admit how miserable I was. I didn’t even have the energy to wipe the tears out of my eyes.

The hand in my gut pulled away, reaching up to pat my face lightly. “You seem pretty tired, buddy. Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Strade’s voice was relaxed, like I hadn’t just metaphorically and literally spilled my guts. It was the voice of the man I had met in the bar, who listened to my problems with a sympathetic smile. For the briefest of moments, I could almost convince myself he cared. “I guess we can get to the fun part tomorrow, then.” I didn’t respond. I was too tired to worry about what tomorrow would bring. I felt his weight lift from my waist. I let him position me back onto the pole and tie my hands back behind me. If I had any fight to begin with, it had bled out with my stomach. A gentle touch ruffled my hair. Strade’s voice was coming from above me now. He had stood up. “Don’t worry buddy. I’m not going anywhere. _Ich werde dich niemals gehen lassen._ ”

I didn’t know what those words promised, but I knew that I was going to find out.


End file.
